Gemotions

The aroma of burnt coffee hung heavy in the air of Ms. Baker’s apartment, another Sunday morning wasted. She stared at the overflowing trash can, the bills that piled up on the counter, and the reflection in the mirror, and the sense of defeat threatened to swallow her whole. The doorbell rang, a sharp, unwelcome sound. A basket of freshly baked goods was left at her door. Nestled amongst the muffins and scones was a note: "You always said everyone deserved a warm meal. - Michael." Her shoulders seemed to unclench a fraction.